Like A Child On Christmas
by NefarioussNess
Summary: Sherlock was staring at the opened boxes, where garland and strings of lights were pouring out of. Joan stood behind them, her arms folded casually across her chest.


"What's all this?"

Sherlock was staring at the opened boxes, where garland and strings of lights were pouring out of. Joan stood behind them, her arms folded casually across her chest.

"It's five days until Christmas," she said, gesturing at the decorations. "And I decided to wait for you to bring up the subject first. But seeing how you've been determined to ignore it all until I brought these out of storage—"

"I never saw it fit to trouble myself with such proclivities beforehand," Sherlock interrupted, rubbing his hand along his jawline. "What's the point when it's just the two of us here? What type of insane person would indulge themselves in their own handiwork?"

Joan raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

Holmes shrugged. "I was humoring you, Watson."

Joan didn't push the subject of the holidays upon her patient—especially with this one being unusually peculiar—until this moment for a particular reason. She didn't want to assume anything, but with the way Sherlock scoffed at his relationship with his father, Joan had a good reason to believe that the holidays weren't exactly warm at the Holmes household.

"You have a very good reason to prejudge my reaction to the festivities, Watson."

Joan frowned, tilting her head. "I didn't say anything."

Sherlock bounced a little on the balls of his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. "Even without observing all of the regular bodily movements reminiscing with concern, I could tell what you were thinking of with that look in your eyes. There's no need for concern, really.

"The rather strained… _association_ I have with Daddy—the most influential being within my early childhood, as you will naturally assume—has no impact on my current dismissal of the winter solstice. I rather not burden myself with overtaxed credit cards and faking delight at a hastily bought gift."

Sherlock walked away from the boxes, making his way over to the half-empty coffee pot in the kitchen. Grabbing a clean mug, he turned to Joan and said, "You need not pay attention to my own views, though. Feel free to spruce up the place with your assortment of decorations. I just won't be helping setting them up, that's all."

"Are you sure?" Joan asked. "Even though I'm staying here, this is still your home."

But Sherlock quickly shook his head as he poured himself a cup. "Your posture is slightly more rigid than usual," he replied, his eyes remaining fixed on his drink. "You're nervous, either for my sake or for the judgement of others. I'm reaching for the latter option."

Joan rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that he wasn't far off the mark. "Oren wanted to visit on Christmas Eve."

"Understandable," Sherlock mused. He turned to face his sober companion, taking an experimental dreg of his coffee. He made a face, and proceeded to dump it into the sink.

"So, you don't mind him coming over for the evening?"

"Not at all," Sherlock said, and Joan suddenly felt suspicious. Sherlock was being awfully compliant about all of this.

"Besides," Sherlock said, "I got a little project for that night anyway."

"And what's that?" Joan asked warily. "A cadaver at the morgue?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied, now rummaging through the cupboards, no doubt searching for the tea bags. "How can we possibly assume that there'll be a _fresh_ one when it's four days away?"

"Sherlock…"

But just then Sherlock had found the box of cheap Tetley, and had wandered over to the kettle, humming under his breath. Joan sighed, and picked up the box of garland.

* * *

"Good morning Watson."

Joan groaned before sitting up in her bed. Sherlock was peering over her, a slight bounce in his step. In his hands were a plate of buttered toast and a mug of cold milk. (They were presently out of clean glasses.)

"Please learn to knock," Joan grumbled as Sherlock handed her breakfast.

"Your prediction was correct," Sherlock rambled on, watching Joan excitedly as she nibbled at her toast. "Three pristine corpses, all with different symptoms! And one of them will require a surgeon's deft hand at discovering the time of death!"

He was like a child on Christmas. And speaking of which…

"He won't be here until the evening, correct?" Sherlock pushed on, clasping his hands together.

Joan nodded slowly, seeing where this was going. "I'm guessing this is going to take more than two hours?"

Sherlock nodded. Joan sighed.

Her patient had a strange way of asking to spend time together on Christmas. That didn't necessarily make that bad, just… different.

"You can wait until I have my shower and morning run," she said sternly.

"Then I suggest you reverse that sequence and start with the latter," Sherlock said smugly, "for maximum sufficiency."

Joan rolled her eyes as she got out of bed. Smartass.


End file.
